


Any Last Words...?

by the Divine Nataku (DivineRedhead)



Series: The Girl Who Lived [28]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Closure, Deathly Hallows, Gen, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Resurrection Stone, always a girl!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineRedhead/pseuds/the%20Divine%20Nataku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's only one last thing left for her to do...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Last Words...?

**Author's Note:**

> As always, the Harry Potter series belongs to the esteemed J.K. Rowling. I just borrowed it for giggles.

May 6th, 1998

Despite being reduced to crumbling shambles, Hogwarts School has been in a flurry of activity the past few days. Given that it is the site of the final defeat of the oppressive dark wizard Voldemort, dozens have flocked to the castle in search of answers. There have been numerous interviews, and none of the parties involved have been spared from hours of rigorous inquiries.

It is for this reason that she waits until nightfall to put her plan into motion. She understands everyone's fervor, of course. She is just as relieved as everyone else that everything is over, but she's grown extremely weary of all the questions. There are numerous others still within Hogwart's walls that can recount the recent course of events just as well as she can; certainly there are others even willing to do so. She's well aware that once word of what happened truly gets out, she'll be the 'Girl Who Lived' even more than she was before, shoved into the spotlight as the Wizarding world's heroine once more.

Of course, before that happens there's one last thing she needs to do.

Once she's certain she's alone, she quickly manages to slip quietly out of the castle, making her way down the familiar path to the forest's edge. Drawing her Invisibility cloak over her shoulders, she ventures into the thick copse of trees. Her steps are slow but sure as she retraces her path deeper into the woods, and although she is in no hurry she eventually finds herself in the center of a familiar clearing.

Carefully she reaches into her sleeve, drawing out a long and slender wand. Fifteen inches with a Thestral hair at its core; many feats of magic have been performed with this wand, some great and some terrible. 

Personally, Harri feels has no desire to do great or terrible things with the so-called Deathstick. There is but one more task she has for it, after which it will be returned to its resting place with its last true Master, Albus Dumbledore. But first…

She raises her arm beneath the cover of her cloak, casting silently. A few seconds pass before something dark and small, glinting in the soft glow of the moon, zips in front of her. With reflexes honed from years of Quidditch, she snatches it out of the air and draws it closer to her face.

The Resurrection Stone, still cracked, is both warm and cool in her hands. Closing her eyes she turns it over slowly between her fingers, once, twice, thrice…

"Rather late to be out of bounds… Isn't it, Miss Potter?"

Shedding her cloak, she turns to face him, noting how his form almost seems to blend into the shadows of the forest behind him. Dimly she thinks this should make him look far more imposing than he did in life, but he somehow looks less sallow, less jaded…

The thought that death would be an improvement on anyone is wholeheartedly depressing.

Heedless of her musings, he regards her quietly, a brow arched imperiously as if to say, 'well?' She fights to hold back a snort of indignation. Even as a ghost Severus Snape is still a git.

"School's not actually in session at the moment," she says lightly. "So I'm not really out of bounds…"

He snorts, "Silly girl, do you suppose that makes any difference? Rules are set in place for a reason! The boundaries are for your protection!"

She blinks at the reprimand, but recovers quickly, replying rather testily. "I'm certain the so-called Mistress of Death can handle a walk in the dark by herself."

His expression sours. "Pure arrogance," he snarls. "Just like…"

"My father?" she cuts in, green eyes sparking.

He falls silent, studying her carefully. The only sounds come from the forest around them; the wind blows, leaves rustle, a nocturnal animal of some kind lets out a lone distant cry.

He sighs quietly, causing her to study him more closely. He looks a bit more solid now; no longer transparent like Sir Nicholas or Helena, or any of the other Hogwarts' ghosts, but still not as corporeal as a living person. There is a weariness in his gaze that catches her off guard, reminding her of her task. She opens her mouth to speak, but he beats her to the punch.

"You are a great deal like him in some ways," he says quietly, as if he is merely musing to himself. "But you take after her so much more…"

She blinks again, taken aback by the reverence in his tone. It stuns her to hear such emotion in his voice, for her mother of all things. She saw the memories in the Penseive, of course, remembered the way he gazed into her eyes as the light faded from his, but still…

"I…" The words seem to stick in her throat, but she somehow manages to force them out anyway. It is important that she do this. She doesn't know why; it just is. "I didn't come here to forgive you… or even to thank you." He stares at her, his face unreadable. "You protected me, saved my life, but you were never kind to me. At times you were downright cruel to me! All because of—!"

"Once again, you presume a great deal, Miss Potter." He interrupts. The folds of his dark robe billow in that dramatic way of his as he folds his arms over his chest. "Could you really expect me to be doting and kind? Me… the man that caused your life to become what it was?" His expression twists, a sneer forming upon his pale face. "What monster would I truly be if I smiled in your face day after day, all the while knowing it was I who signed your parents' death warrants?

"How could you expect warmth or care from the one who sentenced you to life with Petunia Dursley?" 

She flinches at this, recalling that he knew what sort of resentment her aunt held for magic and anything associated with it. All those hours spent doing back-breaking labor at such a young age, days spent alone in a dark cupboard with nothing but spiders to keep her company. Years without knowing any sort of familial love or tenderness, being force-fed the belief that her parents met their end in an ignominious fate only to learn that it was all a lie? Surely he knew that that was the life meant for her when Dumbledore left her on the doorstep in Surrey. 

As if reading her thoughts, a mirthless laugh escapes him. "Yes, I know what life was like for you there," he says. Of course he did. He'd witnessed a great many things during their ill-fated Occlumency lessons. How could he not have known? "Do you really think it would have been any better with me? No, you were safer from afar."

Her eyes narrow. "You don't know that."

He meets her gaze unflinchingly. "Yes, I do."

At the unrelenting dark stare, she believes him. Silence passes between them again.

Only after what seems like a small eternity passes, she sighs again. Here again stands a wizard before her, one who thought he knew best in how to keep her safe. She studies him carefully; he allows the scrutiny without comment. "Do you regret it?" she finally asks.

His expression is blank again. "I regret a great many things, Miss Potter," he says.

She wants to ask, but hesitates. She knows she has kept him here far too long. His form is all the more solid now, but it looks unstable, as if it could fade away at any given moment. She remembers the tale of the one Peverell brother who brought his love back from beyond the Veil; it has to be uncomfortable, being kept here like this... 

'Why hasn't he commented on this,' she wonders, frowning thoughtfully. Why doesn't he insist she release him? Is this some sort of penance for him? 

"All the Headmasters have portraits, don't they?"

He blinks at the non sequitur, but doesn't dignify that with a verbal response. One of those dark eyebrows of his merely arch upwards, as if to say 'your point?'..

"Some time… when your portrait wakes up," she murmurs. Both brows raise now. "You and I will talk again. There's still too much…" She waves a hand, unable to put the feeling into words. "When we do that… I want you to speak to me – not as James Potter's brat… not as Lily Evan's child… but as just Harri. Can you do that?" He stares at her. "Headmaster…?"

He snorts. "I suppose I don't have a choice, do I?"

She shakes her head. "There's always a choice, Professor Snape."

He considers her again. "Indeed there is." He agrees. Drawing his cloak about him, he gives a brief, half bow. "Until then, Miss Potter."

"I'm just Harri," she corrects.

He snorts, his lips turning up just slightly. "Never." He says again, before vanishing into the darkness once again.

For a few moments, Harri stands alone in the clearing, the small stone still clutched loosely in her fingers. She gives it a quick glance, before tossing it carelessly into the trees. Without pausing, she tucks her cloak tightly about her before turning to make her trek back towards the castle.

Even as a ghost Severus Snape is still a git.

**Author's Note:**

> more "Girl Who Lived" works can be found on my deviantart page under the name Divine-Nataku.


End file.
